In a month's time..,
It calmly and steadily streaked across his fingertips.
Anne had never seen Shylock once.
She went back to Baker Street three times, but he wasn't there three times. Mrs. Hudson always tried to lead the topic to Shylock, but Anne smiled and avoided it.
Sometimes when she walked on the street,
She would suddenly see the back of someone in a dark coat who looked very similar to him.
But it wasn't him.
Anne couldn't tell if she was more disappointed or glad.
When she returned to the restaurant,
It was lunchtime,
There were many customers in the restaurant,
Anne went to the second floor to change her clothes and threw herself into the busy work downstairs.
It wasn't until around three o'clock in the afternoon that she was slightly free,
There were only two or three tables of customers left to kill time. The soft music flowing in the restaurant,
Played to the end, and finally returned to silence.
Anne's gaze swept to the piano placed against the wall at the end of the restaurant.
On the first day of work, Anne had noticed this piano. There was usually soft music playing in the shop.
The piano was more like a large and luxurious decoration. Occasionally, customers would play it, but most of the time, it was idle.
Think about it,
It seemed like she hadn't touched the piano for a long time.
Anne wasn't a very diligent student,
Lady Catherine was a strict person,
But Anne wasn't in good health,
So she couldn't help but indulge her sometimes. Fortunately, other than her in the family,
There was another girl. So Georgiana became the poor child who was disciplined twice as strictly. Even far away in Pemberley,
Lady Catherine often had to write letters to urge her on her schoolwork.
Strict supervision and results were proportional to each other. Georgiana played the piano very well,
Of course, she was equally outstanding in other aspects. So when everyone was together, Georgiana often played, and Anne quietly enjoyed it.
However, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to hear it in the future.
Anne slowly walked over and sat in front of the piano.
She opened the lid and pressed the first note on the snow-white keys with her slender fingers.
Perhaps the fingers had their own ability to remember stories. One after another, the zither characters jumped out from the fingertips as if they had a life of their own.
The wind was gentle and the flowers were quiet. There was a swing in the middle of the green lawn. No matter if it was a starry night, a sunny afternoon, or a rainy morning, it was always there. Like, I was always there.
I walked over and sat down. There was no need to ask about the chirping birds and the butterflies that flew by. Because they know that the empty space next to them is reserved for you.
Will you come?
There was no need to say anything. They could even not hold hands, hug, or kiss.
Just let me see you and know you're here.
The world was very big, but my swing was very small. I dare not leave it, because I will be lost.
But I was still lost.
Will you come and find me?
When I'm scared, anxious, and even irrational, will you find me?
If you can, you will realize that the spot beside me has always been empty for you …
.
Her fingertips stopped on the piano keys. Anne didn't move for a long time until she suddenly heard sparse applause behind her.
She turned around and saw Angelo and her colleagues in the restaurant, as well as the remaining two tables of customers in the restaurant.
Angelo walked over and praised her generously: "Oh, Anne, you are really a surprise! I should give you a raise. You know, when you play the piano, you look like a noble lady from the 19th century. "
Anne smiled.
Angelo immediately pointed at her and said: "You should smile more, Anne. You have the most gentle and beautiful smile I have ever seen. "
Anne's cheeks were a little hot in the face of such straightforward praise. She had long realized that her boss liked to exaggerate.
"Okay, Billy." Angelo patted Billy's shoulder. "Look away and keep that silly smile on your face. This is not your girl, understand?"
This sentence made Anne look sideways at the burly boss. Angelo returned a knowing smile, as if to say: "I know everything, but don't worry, I won't say anything." He succeeded in making Annie's face turn even redder.
She turned her head and suddenly saw a tall and thin figure in a suit opening the door and walking out. He stood in front of the glass window at the door and slowly put on the black coat in his hand. Then he raised his hands, straightened the collar of the coat, and pulled it tight.
Her heart trembled slightly.
Anne believed that when he walked away, she saw his fair and cold side profile and the soft and slightly messy curls on his forehead …
The figure walked very quickly and disappeared around the corner in the blink of an eye.
Anne retracted her gaze and saw an unfinished cup of coffee and a piece of white paper on the table by the window.
She stood up, walked over, and picked up the paper.
She was stunned at a glance.
There were a few very short sentences written on the paper:
I have died,
Before the doubts of love;
By its hands,
Buried deep here.
Its deep kiss,
Let me wake up;
I am in its eyes,
Seeing heaven.
This was the poem of Franz Liszt's piano piece "Dream of Love" that she had just played.
Anne read it several times and couldn't help but curl the corners of her lips.
It seemed that Mr. Holmes's understanding of "boring" literature was not as shallow as he claimed.
.
Another three days passed just like that.
Except for the weather that was getting colder day by day, there was no change in life.
Anne was even more confused. Was she going to live like this from now on? Quiet, lonely, and directionless.
Her insomnia was getting worse and worse, and she couldn't live without drugs. Although she still smiled in front of others and tried her best not to make mistakes at work. But Anne knew that her condition was terrible.
Sometimes when she walked on the cold street and looked at the people and cars in front of her, she would suddenly want to stand in the crowd and cry out loud. The viscous blood rushed fiercely in her thin blood vessels, and the emotions that she couldn't get rid of were clogged in her heart, making it hard for her to breathe. She was panicking and angry, like a small beast trapped at the bottom of a pit.
Every time this happened, Anne could only let herself stand quietly for a moment. She had experienced this kind of discouragement and disappointment before, but it had never been as strong as it was now.
The parting in her previous life was the inevitable result of death that couldn't be resisted. At least she had a little calmness after trying hard. But this time, the sudden separation was like adding frost on top of snow on top of old wounds, leaving them completely unprepared. Anne didn't know how to live bravely anymore.
She tried hard to adjust herself, but she felt infinitely tired.
Sometimes, or a lot of times. She would walk to Baker Street. Standing across the road, she would look at the door of 221B without saying a word.
She could watch like this for hours. She imagined whether Shylock was in that warm little living room and what he was doing. Was he sitting on the sofa elegantly with his legs crossed like usual? Was Dr. Watson sitting at the desk beside him, recording their interesting and bizarre case solving stories on his laptop?
This kind of imagination could relax her tired and painful brain for a while.
For some moments, Anne didn't understand what she was feeling awkward about and what she was fighting against.
Every time she wanted to cross the road, push open the door, run up the narrow stairs, stand in front of him, and say, I'm sorry, Shylock, I'm being unreasonable, I don't want to leave Baker Street at all, I want to hear your violin every night … I feel like I'm going crazy …
But she didn't do that every time. She just turned around quietly and left slowly.
The trees on the street in winter were bleak and thin like the light yellow clouds in the sky.
.
"What are you looking at?"
Watson closed the computer and glanced at the tall, thin figure standing by the window. If he remembered correctly, Shylock had been standing there for almost two hours.
The doctor thought he was thinking about the case and didn't disturb him at first, but obviously, he didn't resist his curiosity in the end.
Shylock finally put down the curtains in his hand, walked back to the sofa, leaned over, and picked up a newspaper to read.
"I remember you have a psychiatrist."
After a few minutes, Shylock suddenly said without looking up.
Watson was slightly startled and glanced at his arrogant roommate who was still focused on the newspaper.
Although he didn't know why Shylock suddenly brought up this topic, Watson still nodded and said, "Yes, Dr. Fitz. She is a very … responsible and kind doctor. "
"Yes," Shylock casually changed the page of the newspaper and said noncommittally, "At least she saw that your limp was a psychological problem, and you can't blame it on the bullets in Afghanistan."
The doctor who was scolded every day asked angrily, "So, what do you want?"
Shylock finally looked up from the newspaper and looked at him. He said, "I think you still have the contact information of this kind and responsible female doctor."
Watson's eyes were filled with doubts, but Shylock didn't want to talk about it anymore.
Fortunately, Dr. Watson's doubts were answered in the afternoon.
Not long ago, Watson had just gotten a job in a surgery clinic. To be precise, it was a very good job. Although it was only a temporary doctor, fortunately, his boss and colleague, Sarah, was a very beautiful and charming woman.
In the afternoon, after sending off the last patient with an appointment, Dr. Watson walked out of the office to stretch his stiff limbs and see if he could bump into a beautiful woman.
When he looked up, he saw a familiar figure from the corner of his eye. She just pushed open the door of another consultation room. She smiled and nodded to the receptionist sitting at the door, then walked out of the clinic.
Watson was blocked by a pot of tall green plants, so she didn't see him.
The doctor opened his mouth, but in the end, he didn't call out her name.
After thinking for a while, Watson knocked on the door of the consultation room next door.
"Please come in."
Watson pushed the door open. Behind the big desk, the beautiful and charming woman was leaning on the table with both hands and looking at him with a kind smile.
"Uh, Sarah," Watson's eyes flashed, and then he said, "I want to ask, is Miss Anne De Boer your patient?"
Sarah looked at him with some surprise, "Yes, you know Miss Deboer?"
"A friend." Watson answered ambiguously, "If it's possible, I want to know, what's wrong with her?"
Sarah raised her eyebrows and shook her head, "You know, John, I can't disclose the patient's privacy."
"… Yes, of course. You're right. "Dr. Watson fell silent, embarrassed.
Sarah lowered her head and flipped through the case. After a few seconds, she looked at Dr. Watson, who was still standing in front of the desk.
Well, the female doctor, who had a good impression of Watson, raised her head again.
"Since you're Miss Deboer's friend, I think you should remind her that she has taken a serious overdose of sleeping pills recently. Maybe you should suggest that she see a psychiatrist. "
Psychiatrist?
At night, back on Baker Street.
Shylock was sitting in front of the experiment table in the kitchen, staring at the microscope intently. God knows what kind of weird experiment he was doing.
Watson walked over, stopped beside him, and put a thin card on the experiment table.
"This is Dr. Fitz's business card …"
Shylock's eyes were still staring at the microscope, and he didn't look away as he said, "Mhmm."
Dr. Watson wanted to say something, but he didn't know if he should tell him about what happened at the clinic today.
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